


Jail House Pops

by friendlytroll



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Backstory, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Platonic Relationships, adopted dad boogie woogie woogie, parental abuse suggested
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlytroll/pseuds/friendlytroll
Summary: Inspector Hanshichi takes a walk down memory lane. There was a time even he was young... or younger, anyhow. But back then, what was it about one flubbed bank robbery out of hundreds that caught his eye...? Maybe it was just good luck.But whatever it was, Hanshichi wasn't about to walk away without getting to the bottom of this.( Hanshichi is from Series 2, ep 54, “Detective Hanshichi- The Tenth Year Engagement”/“Mercy Mercy me”.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the house headcannons built. 
> 
> If you like my other fanfic, this is a prequel to anything I write using these characters. Enjoy!

Sometimes, like it or not, a cop could only really thank a kind of… gut instinct. No matter how hard you worked, or how long you thought, sometimes at the end of the day all you could really thank was the gods, a little luck, and following your instincts. Was it rational? Maybe not. But crime wasn’t always rational either. 

At least that was how Inspector Hanshichi saw it. He didn’t need to have checked out the bank that day, after all. It’d been considered an open and shut case. Some punk kid, a slapdash attempt to crack a tricky vault… never even made it back out the front door before the alarm went off. He could have left it up to the men already on the scene. Nobody would have blamed him. 

Maybe it’d been instinct. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t have lived with himself if some poor kid got worse then they deserved just because he hadn’t been thorough enough. 

Hanshichi hadn’t been young; not even then. But all those cold night aches and pains hadn’t really set in yet. He’d made a bit of a name for himself, there was someone waiting at home for him… and when he’d arrived on the scene, the officer on the bank door had respectfully saluted. Glory days, only just tinted with the creeping twilight of his career. 

Right away… something had felt off. Hanshichi walked inside the bank, hands resting in his coat pockets as he examined the scene. It was a lavish bank; the kind he joked sometimes he’d never have seen the inside of if it wasn’t for cases like these. 

There’d been six security guards, all found unconscious. The suspect had been found in the vault area, trapped behind the automatic security system shutters- the alarm had shut off by the time someone discovered him there the next morning. Suspect had been apprehended without any further violence, and immediately claimed responsibility for the attempted theft. Open and shut.

They were young. Punkish type. The system was happy to take a confession; it was a foiled attempt, so long as he had someone to speak for him he’d get off easy enough.

Except… except it hadn’t sat right with him at all. And once he’d looking around, Hanshichi had known why. And he’d known he was who needed to handle the interrogation; more specifically that there even needed to BE one before the damn trial started. Both because he needed a few questions answered and because… because… well. Maybe that was where the real instinct, or luck, or whim of the gods had been lead him by the hand. When he’d decided he needed to speak to whoever had been in that bank. Thank hell he had. He’d hate to think how things could have gone otherwise. 

The figure who greeted him in the interrogation room…. well. He’d understood then why there were two men posted at the door. The figure piled into the chair across from him? He looked dangerous. He MEANT to look dangerous.

The suspect was still in the clothes he’d been brought in with. A flashy, loud-patterned button up shirt, motorcycle boots, pants that could NOT have been comfortable… god had there been bandages on his chest? The long hair he definitely remembered; it’d caught his eye, at the time. Curly jet black down to his shoulders. 

He might even have thought a moment the eyelashes were fake. Just one more detail to pile onto a look that might as well have _screamed_ that the man wearing them was spoiling for a fight. Like a rattlesnakes rattle, or the stripes on a hornet- _I’m dangerous_ was written in every stitch of it, and frankly Hanshichi doubted it was a bluff.

But even then, from the moment he’d first laid eyes on the boy, Hanshichi couldn’t help but think of nothing less then a sad, lost pup. 

A BIG pup, mind. Even at 20ish, Zenigata Koichi was a giant of a man. Not that he’d have said he was a man just yet. …Hell, not that he’d known his _name_ , just yet. Hanshichi had only just walked in when the kid lifted his head slightly, fixing hanshichi with a gold medal glare. 

“Don’t bother.” the voice that rumbled out of the boy… well he couldn’t say it didn’t suit him. Sheeh, no wonder nobody’d asked twice… voice like that says they did the crime? Who wouldn’t listen? Only somebody who’d heard the sad little sad-puppy whine on the back end. 

“You and my supervisor both.” he’d joked at him, giving him a worn but friendly smile before he’d sat down. 

“ _Don’t_. I know how this goes.” the kid hadn’t straightened up so much as shifted forward, resting his arms on the table between them. Shoulders up like the hackles of a dog- he couldn’t stop thinking of him that way. Never really did. But it was striking seeing someone dressed that small trying to make himself smaller.

“Oh? That’s surprising. This is your first arrest, isn’t it?” Hanshichi made himself comfortable, patting himself down to find his cigarettes. He didn’t, of course, actually know for sure if he was right. He didn’t know almost anything about him; he’d given no name when he was brought in. It didn’t matter. A guess in a easy, conversational tone was disarming. He needed him off the defensive. 

“Yeah. But I know how it goes anyways. You’re going to be nice. Pull some cheap trick like offering me food. So I’ll be _grateful._ Don’t bother.” Zenigata had sunk back in his wooden chair once he was done talking. He’d folded his arms tight over his chest, which was impressive for someone in handcuffs

Hanshichi blinked, looking up at him mid checking the same pocket for probably the third time. 

“Hell, I’m impressed.” he’d said. And he really was. Not just for the insight, but for how well thought out it was. Bitter, sure. But this wasn’t just muscle. Good. That went a ways towards confirming some suspicions already.

“But tell you what, kid, how about I make with the food anyways? Seems like the least I owe you for your time.” No response. But he could see gears turning… or maybe the smoke of a steam engine’s fire. He gave it a second before talking again.

“The foods not great in lockup. Theres a place near here that does a great katsudon. We’ll get uh… lesse. How about two servings of that- make it three- and I’ll want a coffee by the time it gets here. And get yourself something too.” that he’d directed at one of the gaurds with a tone that made it clear it’d already been decided. He could see a flicker of uncertainty win out over a shot at lunch. 

“You want a coffee? Or something else” he asked the kid, and watched his eyes flick up to him. Glaring? No- just a wide eyed stare with a lot of focus behind it. Definitely his real eyelashes. He might have been spoiling for a fight with every stitch he was wearing, but there wasn’t THAT much affectation happening. 

“…Ramune.” the answer tumbled out of Zenigata like something falling off a shelf, but it was a start. Hanshichi waved off the officer he’d given their order to; leaving just the one posted at the door. Good. 

He found his cigarettes and pulled one out- offering it to the kid after a moments thought.

“You smoke? They’re shinsei- cheap as hell, but so’m I.” 

“Yeah. But fuck off.” The kid snarled back. Hanshichi laughed and shrugged it off, and pulled out a beat up lighter that failed completely at actually starting a damn flame. 

“Well, while we wait I AM going to ask some questions. If treating you like a decent human being ‘doesn’t work’? Fine by me. _I’m_ on the clock. And all you’ll be spending is time. You’ll have plenty of that soon, eh?” The lighter sparked and sputtered as hanshichi flicked it repeated, and he wound up shaking it with an annoyed grumble, feeling the weight of the damn lighter fluid he KNEW was inside. 

“So. You took down six gaurds, I’m told?” he asked, setting the lighter down to see if he could sneak up on it. 

“Yeah.” 

“Alone? That’s impressive.” Hanshichi snatched up the lighter and flicked it, which finally produced a flame… which vanished when his hand finally registered he’d burned himself trying to start the damn thing, and dropped the lighter like a hot coal. 

“Yeah. Like I said when I got brought in.” The lighter bounced on the table a second as Hanshichi shook his hand out, wincing a little. 

“Sure. Makes sense on paper. They’re spaced out… and you look like you can handle yourself in a fight.” Hanshichi snatched his lighter back up, and finally managed to light his cigarette. There was no reply from the boy. He’d been warned about this; outside of the confession, he’d been as good as made of stone. So he ignored it, and kept going.

“Except… you know. Once I looked around at the security routes, they were spaced out. But in _pairs_ , eh? Three sets of two guards, who both have the other in their line of sight. Now that, that to me? That seems suddenly pretty _tricky_ to do alone.” Ahh, jackpot. He watched the kid flinch, curling inwards. The response of someone who’d been hoping no one would notice something… but maybe something else. He hadn’t been aiming for sting, but he’d gotten it. 

“It’s a pretty interesting safe, too. The floors set up like a cargo trucks weight station; you need to recalibrate it if you’re pulling cash out. Seems like a pain to me, but with the kind of money they handle, guess it pays to give their clients a little peace of mind.” Hanshichi gestured slightly as he spoke, still watching him. He was still crossing his arms, but the made of stone act was breaking up. Fidgety, or about to be soon. Nerves?

“Real tricky to get around. Thats why it make sense, eh? You get in, you trip the alarm… near as anyone can tell on site, money’s not missing. It can’t be. The alarm went off, right? And the system says the weights all the same.” Hanshichi reached into his pockets, but this time he didn’t need to pat himself down to find what he was looking for. 

The wad of ‘bills’ he set down on the table wouldn’t have fooled anybody, once they’d thought to actually double check _._ It wasn’t much more then paper in about the right color, bound up like real money. But it’d been slipped in between actual wads of bills; easy enough not to notice for a few days.

“But you’d thought of that. Nobody’s so stupid they’d pick that bank on _accident_. But if you make a weight that you can be *sure* will weigh about the same as the cash…?” Hanshichi blew a wobbly smoke ring, contemplatively watching the smoke drift apart. 

“Maybe now the damn bank won’t be so cocky. I doubt it, sadly. People like that never learn. To them, money means they already have the blessing of heaven.” Hanshichi shook his head, idly tugging the sleeve of his jacket up while silence pooled. Gave them both a moment to think.

“The alarm got switched off before anyone showed up. That’s why no one found you there ‘till morning; but it wasn’t a security *failure*. I found a panel opened up in the wall. Did you do that?” This time, he got another stirring of life. The kids shoulders dropped a little, and his gaze seemed to roll slowly to the floor.  
“The noise was bugging me. Wasn’t like anybody else would hear it.” he mumbled, lowering his arms from their position tightly crossing his chest. For a moment, the kid wound his fingers together, pushing his hands together and absently hinging them apart. 

“I bet. Last thing you needed was a headache, eh? And the bars on the security shutters… those things aren’t kidding around. No getting out once they’re down…. is what I’d usually figure. But I found one bent to hell.” He’d honestly expected to find a sledgehammer in the evidence room, but no dice. 

“…I was mad.” was all the answer he got back, as the kid he didn’t know as Zenigata yet sat and fidgeted and stared a hole in the surface of the table. 

“The bar was bent _up._ And they have to repair the whassits that lift it back in the ceiling, apparently.” Hanshichi prompted, fixing him with a questioning look. 

“I was *really* mad.” 

“Well, blow me down…” Hanshichi chuckled, genuinely impressed. And… for just a second, Hanshichi had watched a smile creep over the boys face. And it broke his heart. 

_Pride_. The kid was proud someone was impressed by him… even if it was a cop. Maybe the pang he’d felt over it was for his own sad, younger self. Or maybe it’d been from thinking… the kid looked ok, smiling. Anyone who could still look that sincerely, innocently happy… there had to be a chance. That had to be someone with a future. 

Hanshichi could put a little faith in a smile like that.

“And… all this by yourself?” he asked, and almost regretted it. The smile slipped away, and left a silence that wasn’t so sullen. Zenigata was frowning, staring at the table. 

“Ye… yeah” he said, but not with what Hanshichi would call conviction. 

Hanshichi had a choice, then. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have helped the kid just knowing what he knew. He didn’t need to confirm this far. But… but. Well. 

He’d never have forgiven himself if someone went through more pain then they needed to just because he thought he’d already done enough. 

“Oy. Take five.” Hanshichi had said, gesturing to the officer on the door. 

“Sir, I-“ at the first syllable of protest, hanshichi slammed his fist on the table, turning his head towards the officer.

“The kids in goddamned manacles and I’m armed! I’m not so old I need a god damned babysitter YET. Now MOVE!” Hanshichi barked, staring the officer down until he heard the click of the door closing. And then… it was just them.

He’d taken his hat off, then, and set it aside. It took a moment for him to arrange the words in his head.

“…He can’t be worth _this_.” He said finally, slowly laying the words out like a game of solitaire. It was only half a shot in the dark. A shot in the gloom, lit by the bare bulb of a sad old story. It landed. He watched the kid glance up sharply- too sharply. He wasn’t a good enough actor yet to hide his expression.

“Listen. Forget me being here as a cop a second. Man to man. Anyone who’d leave you in a jam like that? They’re a god damned _bum_. And you were left, weren’t you. Cause otherwise it doesn’t add up.” It almost felt mean, but he’d only have the one shot to get through to him. He held one hand up to count off the discrepancies one by one.

“You could turn the alarm off, but stayed behind the security shutter? You confess even though you know how an interrogation works? You could take out two men at once? Well, maybe you COULD take out two men at once… but. Anyways.” Hanshichi waved his hand to the side, more at himself then anything else. 

“Take it from an old uncle of a man. Love can absolutely be worth making a fool of yourself for… but you deserve someone _worth being a fool over_. You deserve _better_ then this.” 

Years later, Hanshichi would wonder time and time again… had that been the first time anyone had ever TOLD him that? But right then, he’d just almost hated being right. He’d watched as relief and confusion and absolute anguish battled it out on the kids face, until the surprise victor was him curling up till his head was touching the wood, his shoulders tense. 

It was silent for a few minutes (minus some damp hiccuping Hanshichi planned to go to his grave never letting on that he’d heard) before he decided to break the quiet.

“…My names Hanshichi Kidō, by the way. Inspector Hanshichi.” he offered. He pulled out his cigarette carton to set out near the kid again, figuring maybe by now he’d need it.

“My _partners_ name is Akahito. He’s an author.” It was more then he’d needed to say, maybe. But it felt… square? A little more even. Or maybe he’d just wanted the boy who’s name he was about to learn was- 

“…mines Zenni. Uh. Zenigata Koichi.” -to trust him. And it was easier to trust someone if you could say, I know who you are, and you know me. 

“Good to meet you, Zenigata.” 

Well, he’d thought to himself. A goddamned Zenigata. At least he wouldn’t have any trouble with having someone to speak for him at the trial. 

He’d been wrong. Nobody came for Koichi Zenigata’s trial, except for him. It turned out to be a damn good thing he’d put his best into the case for him, because the more he pieced together, the clearer it became that Hanshichi was the only goddamned one. 

. Hanshichi liked to think he would have stuck by the kid no matter what. But there was nothing like a little spite to really help a man double down on compassion. 

 

The trial went… rough. And when Zenigata had wound up in prison, he did his best to visit as much as he could. At first, he mostly talked. Eventually, he’d gotten to listen. And bit by bit, he got to figure out the answer to the question he’d had when he’d gone over the bank. 

Who the heck was this? Who’d fool a vault, and silence an alarm, but still try to cover for the bastard who tried to leave him with the rap sheet for it?

It was a kid who had a goofy chuckle, and was the kind of loyal that was bound to land him in hot water sooner or later. He had a hot temper that got him in trouble. He had a weakness for cute people with sharp eyes, which got him in a lot _more_ trouble. 

Zenigata worked hard. He had to; the only thing that seemed to come naturally for him was determination. Everything else, he’d fought for inch by inch- and he’d still been fighting, even in jail. He struggled writing with a pen, but he still sent letters. He claimed not to be a great reader, but he went through the books Hanshichi brought him with so much intensity it practically faded the ink.

And nobody had cared.

He was a runaway, who nobody had come looking for. Not so much as a damn missing person filing. Even decades later it would still make his blood run cold when he thought about it. The way Zenigata had talked about it, it was clear he thought it was _his fault_. He thought he’d run away because *he* wasn’t good enough, and he’d gotten tired of trying to face it. 

Nobody came to the court case; nobody came to visit. Except Hanshichi. And when the day came that Zenigata walked out of the prison gates… Hanshichi was there for that, too.

Because the end, it all came down to a pretty simple answer.

He was a good kid. And if his own goddamned family couldn’t see that… well, nuts to them.

 


	2. Don't Be Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata Koichi stood alone at his trial, and didn't seem surprised. But Inspector Hanshichi wouldn't be the man he was if he could let a mystery lie. What kind of a home produces a man so skilled, who's that good at making himself look small? He might not be able to find justice, but he can at least find some satisfaction. 
> 
> (In which your humble author finally gets to drop a 100% wholecloth fannon backstory he's been thinking through for half a year)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS for non-explicit discussion of childhood emotional and physical abuse, and some minor violence.

It was a cold day. Hanshichi could have worn an extra scarf, had this trip not been somewhat impulsive. Frost snapped delicately underfoot as trees cast long blue shadows over the ground. Light, still in short supply, seemed to shyly creep through the humble buildings of Saitama, only just able to find its way to the streets. Hanshichi'd worn a thick coat over his striped suit, and it still wasn't enough. But as cold as the city was, somehow, nowhere was colder then the form of House Zenigata.

A traditional house; a little larger then he might have expected. Something to it’s form was what he might have called… elegant. In polite company anyways. In impolite company he might have called it a stark damn box. Still, he was greeted by a servant at the door, and when he gave his name and requested to speak to the head of the house… well he’d gotten worse responses to _that_ before then being lead into a sitting room.

But he couldn’t imagine a child living in such a house. There was more warmth in a soldiers barracks then this. You might as well try to put a child in a fine display case. As soon as he was left alone Hanshichi got to his feet, examining his surroundings. Carefully he edged a sliding door to the outside open, peering out…

It wasn't uncommon for this kind of house to have multiple buildings, of course. But the dark little building he’d spied coming in was very nearly invisible from the front. A storage shed? Then why did he see the glint of metal over….

Over a window.

The last time he’d talked to Zenigata-kun, he’d been in brighter spirits then he’d expected. The first week of jail was usually when people started to lose their spirit. There was no question that he was still as spiky and sullen as when he’d first met him in the questioning room, but he hadn't been any worse…

“ _You seem to be doing well, Zenigata-kun. Not finding too hard in there?” He’d brought books for him. He doubted they’d have let him keep them if Hanshichi hadn’t stressed he was keeping an eye on this jail. A very personal eye._

_The kid had just shrugged._

_“I’ve seen worse.”_

“Inspector Hanshichi. I apologize for your having to wait.”

It was a familiar voice. It was, very nearly, the voice of the sad, loyal kid sitting in an under-heated jail cell a mere city away. Older. Smoother. Reserved. It had the air of someone who’d trained in speaking, and was used to being listened to.

Cold as frost on metal bars.

“Not at all, I dropped in on you without warning, sir. Gave me a chance to get a breath of fresh air.” Hanshichi turned, and looked into the face of Commissioner Zenigata.

Not quite the same face. But close. Eerily close. Same strong jaw, same square face… same jet-black hair. The nose was different… still lashy, just not so much. Older. Obviously a cop. You could tell by the formal clothing, and is suit was in properly 'masculine' shades of dark grey…

And that same chill. Sheeh, practically a statue… Hanshichi never trusted a man this old without crows feet.

They exchanged polite bows.

“It’s only natural that I would make the time for a fellow officer of regard; and your family name is well respected as well.” Commissioner Zenigata stepped into the room; there was a stiffness in his gait, just on the left side. Hanshichi stepped forward in turn, scratching the back of his head with an amiable grin.

“Kind of you to say. We're no nobility, just a thief catcher who begat thief catchers… well, my Grandpa would have been delighted to hear that coming from a Zenigata.” he said, watching him carefully as they sat at a low table.

“Zenigata the First was only a thief catcher himself. It’s as noble a line as any.” the Commissioner said, voice firm. And wasn’t that interesting… clicked too smoothly with the house. A good house. The kind of house someone who’s grandpappy was a first-son  _samurai_ would have had. Or someone with money, anyhow. Not the kid of a cop.

A servant entered the room, carrying a tray with steaming cups of tea. He grinned and tipped his hat to her in thanks as she set the tea down.

“And that aside, you are of course, if I am not mistake, in charge of my son’s case.” To the Commissioner, she might as well have been made of glass. But she was listening. Because a look crossed her face, for just the slightest moment.

Greif. Next to a man with a face of stone.

Interesting.

Hanshichi relaxed his posture, and leaned his arm on the table in front of him- shifting to sit casually. He picked his tea up in both hands, blowing on the surface.

“Gee.” he said, smiling placidly. “And here I thought I was comin’ here to tell _you_ that, sir.” The servant woman, rather wisely, had made herself scarce. The Commissioner did not so much as flinch; he simply regarded him the way a man might stare at a stray beetle.

“And why would that be, Inspector.”

“Ahh, excuse me, excuse me… I was mistaken, clearly. Only… here I thought I didn’t see you at his trial.” he took a careful sip of the tea, inhaling deeply to enjoy the fragrance. It was good stuff; not the kind he got served a lot.

“You were not, Inspector. I did not attend. After all, the prosecution clearly did not require my aid to reach the correct conclusion.” The Commissioner said, as calmly as if he was discussing the weather.

“Attending was not worth my _time._ ”

The tea turned to acid in Hanshichi’s mouth. He swallowed all the same, refusing to let his casual act drop just yet. Genial, light, and casual. Because this wasn’t someone he could intimidate. No matter how badly he wanted to try.

“Is that so. Well… with no family to stand for him, _I_ had to speak his case.” Hanshichi said evenly, forcing himself to take another slow sip of tea.

“Did you.” for the first time since he’d laid eyes on the man, the Commissioner cracked a smile. Or something close to one; a slight little _curl_.

"I did.'

“Well. I suppose every man must have their _charity_ .” Commissioner Zenigata remarked, picking his own cup of tea up, sipping almost contemplatively. The worst part was, it wasn’t even a smirk. He looked almost _pleasant_ like this. It took a great deal of effort to not throw his tea in the mans damn face. It wouldn’t do to be thrown out now, after all.

“I think the boy has potential.” Hanshichi said, watching him like a hawk.

“Ah, I think I see the misunderstanding, Inspector. I have no use for _potential._ ” The Commissioner set his tea cup down, folding his hands on the table.

“ _Potential_ was all well and good when he was a _child_. But potential must be followed with results.”

“So you abandoned him.” Hanshichi couldn’t stop himself from landing his words as forcefully as a blow. But the only result he got was, to his own disgust, that same calm look, and that room temperature smile.

“Inspector Hanshichi… do _you_ have children?”

Oh this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately, no.” he said, gritting his teeth.

“That's a shame. You’re a man who should be considering his legacy. But let me see if I can explain.” Commissioner Zenigata reached out to pick up his cup of tea, holding it by the rim in his thumb and forefinger, where it dangled precariously.

“This will do. Let us say you wish to commission a teacup, Inspector. You take the finest grade clay, from ground known for its quality… shaped by the finest craftsman. There can be no fault in these choices. You have, then, _untold_ potential. But… should the resulting cup not survive the fires of the _klin…_ ” he slowly held the teacup out away from his body, over the surface of the tatami.

“Then you simply try again.” the Commissioner’s hand opened, and the teacup hit the ground with a sickening _smash,_ the tea pooling out to soak into the tatami. Dark as a blood stain.

“A human being isn’t the same as a _thing._ ” Hanshichi knew saying it wouldn’t make any difference. But some things a man said for his own peace of mind.

“Still. There comes a time when a reasonable man must cut his losses.” the Commissioner stood then, nodding slightly to him.

“If there is some use you think that can be gotten out of him, then by all means. You have my blessing. I only caution you to remember my words.”

“Oh? I will, should I somehow ever be in the market to commission pottery.” keeping his tone from veering into serrated-edged fury was hard. But he had practice. A policeman needed to know when to stay cool.

“I mean my words to your legacy. Hanshichi is a fine family name. I should hate to think of it being interrupted because you chose to spend too much time on another family's  _mistakes_. But if you will excuse me… I have an appointment.”the Commissioner spoke the way he imagined a newspaper was printed. A smooth, forceful press of characters too perfectly shaped out of thin ink.

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you. Don’t suppose you mind if I take a moment to savor the tea?”

“Certainly. It’s quite cold outside. And I am honored to offer hospitality to a fellow man of the law.” And like that, the Commissioner was gone, without so much as a glance back at the shattered mess he’d made.

But in Hanshichi’s experience, whenever cruel men left something broken, there had to be _someone_ who’d come for the pieces. So he waited, until he heard the soft sound of the door being slid open.

It was the woman from before. This time he took a good look at her. She wore a plain _komon_ kimono in subdued shades, dark red layered over bright to match the season. She had the rough hands of someone who had to do hard work, and it seemed clear to her she didn’t considered the fine cup, broken for nothing more than a _conversational point_ to be a surprise. She couldn’t have been much older then he was, and her dark brown hair bore an elegant stripe of grey.

The woman knelt to begin to pick up the shattered cup, setting them into a small wooden cleaning tub she’d brought for that purpose. Her hand paused, slowly, as she looked up to him.

“Inspector? Forgive me for speaking out of turn. But, please. I must know…" she paused, and he waited, letting her take her time.

"Please tell me is Koichi is well.” her voice was quiet, and wavered, but only slightly. He felt a sad regard settle in his chest. She sounded like someone who had learned how to speak instead of weep.

“…he’s in good spirits, and unharmed. Hell, he’s healthier then I ever was at that age.” he said, turning to face her, shifting his posture to regard her politely. At his words her shoulders slowly untensed, and her head drifted down into her hands a moment.

“Thank god…” she said, with a quiet intensity that was worth more than all the smug lectures in the world could have been.

“So… you know him as Koichi, then. Not Heiichi?” he asked, quietly pulling out a clean handkerchief and offering it to her. She accepted it, and carefully dabbed under her eyes. Pulling up his actual legal identification had been a slight shock… in a few ways.

“I do. He told me he wished to have his own name, before he left… I… please, inspector. I beg you.” she gripped the handkerchief tightly, twisting it in her hands.

“ _Don’t let him come back to this house_. Please. Even if his father changes his mind. I couldn’t bear it.”

Well. That answered at least one of his questions.

“I promise you, ma’am. He’d come back here over my dead body.” he said. He almost surprised himself by how much he meant it. He gave her a moment to compose herself, absentmindedly reaching out to pick up a few stray pieces of the cup and toss them into the wooden tub. His hands were tough enough it didn’t sting.  

“..Ma’am? Just one thing… could you take me to the building behind the main houses?” he asked. She nodded to him, standing carefully and vanishing a moment with the broken cup. She returned with a pair of sandals, and hoe shoes, gesturing for him to follow as she left through the door he’d peeked through before.

Soon they were approaching the dark little building, half hidden behind a few trees. This close he could see the bars on the window more clearly… as well as the heavy _lock_ on the door. She produced a key, and swung the door open. He stared into the darkness, stepping inside.

“It’s storage space… or it is now.” she said, gesturing to the stacked boxes, and cloth covered containers. Hanshichi nodded, glancing around at the dust… and crouching to carefully examine the floor. It was hard to see in the dim light. But he could just make out a dark stain.

“How often did Koichi wind up here.” he asked, quietly. He saw her tense slightly, her shoulder slouching a little.

“You might as well tell me, ma’am. I made sure he saw a doctor before he went in…” Which had taken some considerable effort to do with a doctor he trusted. But hell if he was gonna let some government screw do it.

“He’s had his bones broken, hasn't he. But just a little at the time. Resilience training- the kind that leaves a man tough as iron. Only he wasn’t a man.” he felt a little bad to press, but he doubted he’d get another chance inside this household. She wavered slightly, but nodded.

“Often. Whenever _that man_ decided he had done something he needed to ‘reflect on’. It might as well have been his _room,_ for a time.” her voice had the sting of bitterness to it, and she rested her hand on one of the boxes.

“He would hide, sometimes… he would sit in the kitchen while I worked. I could do so little for him but he. You have to understand, he worked so _hard._ But he would still ask if there was anything he could do for me. I could have done more. I wish… more than anything, that I had taken him and _run_ …”

“But his father's a policeman. An important one.” he pointed out, quietly. She nodded, misery twisting in her features.

Who would have believed her? It was a housekeepers word against a police commissioners. Hell, who would have cared. It was a matter ‘between a father and his son’. If she stayed… at least someone could be kind for him. Someone with the _keys_. But now he was gone, Hanshichi thought to himself, but she remained. In this cold house, and it’s cruel memories.

He took out his notebook, and quickly scribbled something down. A phone number, and an address. He hesitated, and then added another number before he tore it out, and grabbed his wallet. He folded a few bills inside, not much, but enough for a train…

“Take this. A business owned by a friend of mine in Tokyo; it’s not the most respectable place, but she needs a cook, and she’s a kind woman. Tell her I sent you. The seconds my number. I’m sure I could get you in to see Koichi. Leave. Soon as you can.” he said firmly.

“I… thank you." she took the folded paper, smiling just slightly. Her smile had a crooked, sincere wobble he couldn't help but think looked familiar.

"I wish I had something I could give you-“ He held up a hand.

“A policeman’s not supposed to take anything, ma’am. But if you insist… I’d be happy to take your name.”

It was Nabe. And she knew a way out the back gate. He made his way to the main house with her thanks in his ears, and a heavy pain in his heart, cutting around the side of the building. There’d be no justice here. And it ate at him. He remembered when he was in training, one of his mentors had said you got used to that. He’d sworn then and there he never would.

“Why, Inspector.”

He whirled at the placid, low tone. He was just stepping onto the front pathway out. The commissioner was standing just outside, in a little garden sort of area smoking an old fashioned pipe. He practically blended into the mossy rocks and the stone lantern around him, with his grey suit.

“Finished your tea, then? I saw your shoes were missing, and thought perhaps I’d missed the chance to see you out.” he said, mildly.

Hanshichi took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with the cold air.

“I’m finished here. But you know, I’m glad I get a chance to properly see you off. Cause you know, I wanted to say something…?” he walked closer to him, flashing a grin.

“By all means, Inspector. I’m sure I’d be happy to hear out whatever you have to say.” he said, with no particular conviction.

“Oh, nothing much. Just that the resemblance between you and your son’s pretty uncanny. Just it’s missing something...” he tapped his chin in an exaggerated motion, as if thinking.

“Ah! I got it.” he said, beaming and holding one finger up like he’d been struck by inspiration. And in a way, he had.

Hanshichi wasn’t a tall man; but he was good at improvising. He leapt, pushing off the ground to leap onto the stone lantern, winding up with all the force he could muster before he slammed his fist right into the smug bastards nose. He felt pain bloom in his hand, but grit his teeth and carried the motion. Commissioner Zenigata went down, and as Hanshichi landed on his feet, he felt a grim satisfaction at the blood running down his face.

“You… _bastard._ ” The Commissioner snarled, holding a hand over his nose as he tried to push up.

“I’ll have your god damn CAREER for this you-“

“You won’t, is the thing. Cause if you try, then I’m gonna have to get real fuckin’ chatty about the xrays I got of your son. And you know what? I’ll probably have to turn in my badge, sure. But you? _You’ll get your name dragged through the mud like you **deserve** _ . The only reason I’m not _now_ is because your damn son doesn’t.” he spat on the ground, glaring at him.

“I hear word one. Word. ONE. Of THIS bullshit happening again, and I’ll take you down with me. And I’ll break your nose for every. Damn. TIME _Koichi’s_ was, _first_.” He pulled the edge of his hat down and turned on his heel. Leaving House Zenigata far behind him.

He was still shaking with anger by the time he got home. He was pretty sure he mighta broken a finger, but he barely cared. He just slipped inside the tiny little doorway that always half stuck when it was wet out, and threw his coat and hat aside as he slipped out of his shoes. He could feel the angry energy that had carried him fading as he walked inside, following the sound of a pen scratching on paper.

The study was a crowded, warm mess. The whole house had about four rooms put together, and three rooms worth of reference materials, case folders, manuscript papers, abandoned half full cups of tea and a little coal stove were all crammed inside this one. Akahito was at his table, a lanky whip of a man peering out at the world through half moon glasses and too much long hair. Or more usually, peering down at his work.

Hanshichi sat behind him and slowly leaned against his back, relaxing against his worn house coat. It took a few comfortable minutes before Akahito turned, leaning down to touch his head to his.

“You look like hell.” Akahito grumbled, making Hanshichi crack a smile.

“I _feel_ like hell. How’s the new chapter?”

“Missing something. Hand me that dictionary.” Hanshichi complied, picking up a worn, endlessly bookmarked little volume to hand it over. For a few minutes he stayed right where he was, before he started tracing idle patterns on his partners back.

“…You know. I’ve been uh. Kinda thinking. About my ‘legacy’.” he said, smiling as that got a snort out of the man.

“That’s new. Well if you decide to finally pick up a wife, she’d better be able to tell me why the damn hell I can’t get the tone I want. I don’t know if this is romantic banter or a fight anymore.” Akahito flipped through the dictionary, scowling at it

“No, no, not like that…n’ I’ll read it over once the inks dry.” he promised, leaning up to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“My hero." Akahito smiled when he said it; the sarcastic tone was just his default.

"So what's on your mind then, Hanshichi san-sei?” he asked, setting the book down and picking his pen back up. 

“Remember that kid I was telling you about?” he asked, a little hesitant.

“No I don’t, you’ve only been agonizing about this Zenigata boy’s trial for the last _month_ . You practically stopped _eating_.”

“I ate!” he protested.

“Dried squids and peanuts is not a MEAL, Kidō.” Akahito fixed him with a Look, picking up a cloth to clean his pen nib.

“Listen- not the point. I mean. He’s gonna be out in a year. And- his family's house is a _wreck_ . Just.” he hesitated. Funds between a cop and a writer weren’t exactly _great_ , and Akahito already put up with him being gone all hours, and…

“…We’ll make room.” 

“Eh?” he blinked quietly, staring as Akahito set back to writing.

“We’ll make room. Let me know if he liked those books, I can get him more. Jails no place for a sharp mind.”

“…yeah. Yeah I will, I…” he smiled, and relaxed against his partner’s back.

"Thanks."

It was still freezing outside. And somewhere was a little jail cell he knew was too damn cold.

But spring was coming soon.

So he sat, and let the warmth sink into his bones, and watched the shadow of the laundry lines next door picked out in the moonlight as they swayed on the wind. And thought. About what kind of books a sad kid who’d spent too much time in the dark might like. About cups, and a woman he prayed was on a train by then.

And potential.

 


End file.
